


Touch

by Gail Riordan (lferion)



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Challenge fic, Established Relationship, M/M, PWP, Romance, pre-TPM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-10-13
Updated: 1999-10-13
Packaged: 2017-10-02 01:54:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lferion/pseuds/Gail%20Riordan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Waking up on vacation in an idyllic spot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to WriteStuff for giving me ideas. This bit of fluff is dedicated to her. I hope she finds it as effective &amp; evocative as I have found her work. This is also a response to DBKate's NC-17 Angst-free vacation challenge. Thank you Kate for giving me an excuse to actually write the bunny that WriteStuff inspired! And many thank yous to Divinia for keeping me at it &amp; to Destina for doing the edit/sanity check.
> 
> Also - this is the first explicit piece I ever wrote.
> 
> [This is telepathy] and /these are thoughts/.
> 
> Ambiance: Debussy &amp; Ravel - La Valse

Year of the Republic 24,980  
Taaret culture took vacation time seriously. Hard work was valued, but more as a means than an end, and the preferred end was play. Camping. Music (making, writing, listening). Painting sunsets, fishing, looking at beautiful things, laughing, writing and telling and listening to stories. Making love. The Taareti were very into making love - oh, just sex was fine too, but making love, with romance and tenderness, little gestures of affection and surprising the beloved with intensely erotic sensations and waking the next morning still wound lovingly together to start all over again.... Yes, making love was very high on the list of preferred vacation activities.

Obi-Wan had cause to be grateful to the Taareti. Though a small people, their beds were large, baths were large, and they liked high ceilings and interestingly textured floor-coverings. The beds, baths and ceilings were large enough and high enough even for Master Qui-Gon Jinn, not to mention his energetic and enthusiastic Padawan.

As Observers for a trade contract negotiation and conference between Taaret and Cinndar, the Jedi were expected to conform to local custom: five long days of concentrated work in the Work Time, five equally concentrated days of Rest Time, with the remaining two days of the twelve-day 'week' set aside for religious observance and domestic maintenance. Since there were eight standard (and numerous custom) ways of arranging these blocks of time, good schedulers were highly prized and well paid. Obi-Wan could not really remember the last time that 'time off' had been part of the job, and he was determined that both of them would take full and enjoyable advantage.

Waking in clean, bright luxury, early on the second morning of the five day weekend, Obi-Wan stretched a long, thorough stretch, enjoying the satisfying pull and release of tension in each toned muscle, all the way down to his fingers and toes. The smooth texture of the sheet slid teasingly down his skin, and the mattress was both firm and soft beneath him. He breathed in deeply, taking in the scent of the dawn, the delicate sweet-spice on the cool little breeze coming in the wide window, the distant aroma of new bread, the clean, indescribable, heady perfume of the silken fall of grey-bronze hair caressing his cheek, tickling his nose as he breathed out, making a little noise of contentment.

He moved his spine sinuously, curled and turned over on his stomach, deliciously awake. He stretched again, pushed up on one elbow and opened his eyes on the still sleeping form of his lover and Master. Another little noise, all love-desire and happiness.

In Obi-Wan's opinion his lover did not get nearly enough sleep: always up late studying material for the mission, going all day working, up early with meditations and exercises. This morning he had the pleasure of watching Qui-Gon sleep the sleep of the exhausted and (Obi-Wan had made sure) sexually sated. And what a view he was, too. His Master lay on his back, hair fanned on the pillow, long lashes printing fine dark lines against the fair, smooth grain of his skin, the expressive, sensitive mouth relaxed and parted just a little. Breath rose and fell deep and even in the broad chest, making interesting shadows and highlights in the tempting hollow of his throat, along the curve of collarbone and the planes and angles of breast and stomach. His nipples were rosy-dark against the rich pale cream of his so-fair skin, hardly darker where the suns of hundreds of worlds had touched it than where they had not. Places his lips had touched, would touch again.

Obi-Wan bit his lip, feeling a pulse move through him at the thought, relishing the slow shiver.

But he was enjoying the view just now. One of his Master's broad hands was outflung, open, a fold of sheet caught in his fingers, brushing his wrist; the other was curled at the line where hip met thigh. The fine white weave of the sheet covered but did not hide the long strength of his legs, hinted at the secrets nestled between, close to that so-skilled hand. His own hand wanted to smooth away the concealing cloth, to tangle his fingers in crisp curls, to caress that velvet length to life and heat and urgent need. His breath was coming faster and his own groin was tight with desire. So beautiful, his Master, his lover, Qui-Gon, his love.

He recalled the evening before, curled close among the pillows, watching the moons rise over the distant hills through the wide-flung windows, enjoying the scented breeze from the gardens below their suite of rooms.

"How did we get so lucky, Master?"

A low, warm chuckle rumbled in the chest pressed close to his. "Master Deb-Kaht felt we needed a break from the stresses of our last several missions. She pulled a few strings, yanked a chain or two." One hand ruffled through the short hair at Obi-Wan's temple, coiled among the longer strands at the back of his head before tugging provocatively at his Padawan braid. The other had been doing unspeakably effective things further south.

The memory only made him hotter, harder. They had nothing to do today but precisely as they pleased and the Taareti approved. The Taareti approved of making love. And there was nothing he wanted more than to make love to Qui-Gon, to feel that long body moving under him, helpless in release, beautiful in ecstasy. He bent to gently kiss the soft, vulnerable skin under the point of his lover's jaw, to nibble and lick tenderly down the lines of his neck, to swirl his tongue and suck deeply at the too-tempting hollow of collarbone and throat. /Oh Love, let me love you./

*** *** ***

 

Qui-Gon woke to kisses. The pleasant langour of long sleep and thorough loving filled him with warmth and a satisfying sense of weight. Obi-Wan was kissing him, causing wonderful ripples to wash down his nerves, to coil warm in his belly. His beloved knew he woke, pressing soft lips gently to his eyelids, kisses barely felt, tender and light.

[No, don't open your eyes, just feel. Let _me_ love _you_.]

Obi-Wan's voice in the Force caressed his mind even as his hands and mouth were finding the sensitive places of his body and firing them with sensation. Delicate touches, eyelash-tickles, warm breath followed by a liquid tongue, each place his apprentice visited left tingling, awake, eager and aching for more. [Oh love.] A deep-drawn breath as he shivered, wanting, _desiring_. [I am yours.]

Hands slid possessively down his sides as that hot mouth captured his own, suckling, dipping, devouring. Breathless, he arched up into the kiss, opening, hands unconsciously reaching to touch in return.

His hands were caught, caressed, kissed, wrists licked and nibbled until his fingers curled and twitched helplessly, and then were placed firmly among the pillows. [Your turn to touch later.] A smile accompanied the thought, and that mouth was devouring him again, leaving comet-trails of fire down his throat, breastbone, along the edges of his muscles, the tender places under his arms. Then, _there_. Oh! One nipple, the other, taken in, swirled, nipped and suckled deeply, fiercely. The dark behind his eyelids glittered and his heart sped.

The warm, clever hands had smoothed the sheet away and were tracing little circles and spirals on the soft flesh just beside his hipbones, down the inside of his thigh. Feathery, then firm, nails and palms and fingertips teasing, touching. Combing through the springy curls, just brushing him, making him squirm and rise, thighs opening in invitation, need. His breath grew fast and shallow.

Cool air caressed his breast then, teasing at taut nipples, and Obi-Wan's wet, sweet mouth was on him, engulfing him, liquid crown to aching, eager root. He could not breathe, only gasp and writhe as those lips moved on him, teeth grazing down and tongue swirling up the so-sensitive underside, swallowed whole and entire.

Oh! He was too hard, it was too soon! A strangled sob escaped him, and those hands were on him - [hush love. I've got you] - holding, pressing, caressing and he could almost breathe again, as Obi-Wan slowly, slowly released him, sucking and licking as he pulled away - brought to the brink but not tipped over. Another little sob at the loss and he was tasting his own faint bitter-salt taste on his beloved's tongue twining with his own, dipping deep into his mouth, suckling at his lips as he kissed back.

Hands were under his hips, long fingers cupping his cheeks, gently, firmly, lifting, turning him over. One hand sliding warmly under the back of one thigh, bending, touching, caressing. The bunched covers were a silky mass under his hip, cool and smooth against his hot, aching length. The warm wet tongue was moving along his cheekbone, soft lips kissing and nibbling at his ear; half-turned, balanced, the hands rested briefly at hip and shoulder.

"May I?" A throaty whisper in his ear, asking, never assuming this.

/Oh yes./ A wordless groan of assent, a sibilant gasp and nod. Oh, yes, he wanted Obi-Wan sheathed in him, even as his beloved desired to be sheathed. He was burning, breathless, nearly wordless, shaking with need-love-desire.

He finished turning over, knee bent, one hip a little raised, head curled over and cradled in one arm, face half-veiled in the soft fall of his long hair. He heard Obi-Wan's breath come fast, unsteady above him.

[So beautiful. Force, you are so beautiful.] A finger traced down the long line of his spine, up again and down. His bones quivered under the touch, and he shuddered and sighed as the hand came to rest warm and still at the base of his spine, Obi-Wan's lips seeking the base of his skull, the fragile skin at the nape of his neck, nuzzling and sucking. His heart caught at the exquisite tenderness and the nearly overwhelming sensation of love.

He could feel the heat of Obi-Wan's skin as he leaned over him, straddling him. Hear the rustle and soft scrape of the oil being found, opened with one hand and the Force. Anticipation trembled in him, even as the other hand stroked and smoothed along his back, the curve of hip, dipping inside his thighs, up and along and around and then ....

Oiled slippery warmth sliding down between, spreading, seeking --

Touching. _There_.

His breath shattered and stuttered in his chest, all awareness focused on that one point, that private place, the so intimate, delicate pressure, the smooth slickness pressing into him, entering, so gently and inexorably. A suckling kiss at the base of his spine, the hollow of his back, tongue laving and teeth grazing lightly over sensitized skin, up and along the interesting hills and valleys of his backbone, spreading more ripples of warmth across his back. And still that liquid touch, the piercing pressure opening him, slow and firm, turning, touching.

A pause, a listening, heated stillness as muscles twitched and trembled against the slender intrusion. But now it was not enough, not nearly enough. His hips arched back into that hand, wanting, needing, and he was rewarded with a release and a stretch and a second sweet probing joined the first as mouth and teeth and tongue nibbled up and down his spine, sending fiery little jolts everywhere. There was no air, only fire and need and that touch, deepening, finding out his secret places.

He groaned and writhed, desperate as the fingers curled and moved in him. And then, then lightning spiked and time stopped, light blooming and burning behind his eyelids, firing through him. Obi-Wan chuckled as he cried out and his breath shattered again, his hands curled and clutched at the bedding even as his head tossed against the pillows and his hips jerked and pressed, thrusting into that tormenting, exquisite touch. More, please more! He was making wordless pleading noises of need.

"Oh my beautiful love," breathed his tormentor-beloved, as the teasing fingers stroked and withdrew, slowly, maddeningly, leaving him. He bucked against the aching emptiness with another cry, and Obi-Wan chuckled again, murmuring warm into his ear, "Hush, love, hush."

Hands moved and spread and then, deliberately, sensuously, his emptiness was touched again, entered and filled and there were no possible words - only the sweet hot pressure of Obi-Wan within him, rocking in, deep and slow and hard, sliding out, slick and smooth, pressing in again harder, deeper. He was breathless with the glory of it, and his ears rejoiced at the quick, catching sound of his Padawan-beloved's breath. His back muscles shivered and twitched in delight at the ticking brush of the braid along the edges of his ribs as Obi-Wan moved over him, in him. So tight and hard and unspeakably beautiful.

The clever hands were beneath him now, and he was enveloped as well as pierced. All was sensation, a slow climb, pleasure and pressure and need building as they rocked and pulsed and moved together. Close-joined, steady, tight, hard and hot and liquid and almost unbearable. Only a little more. A little higher, so near. So very close.

[Come in me, beloved.]

And Obi-Wan bucked against him, hard, convulsive, knees twined and locked together with his own, a hand gripping his hip, wanting to go deep, deeper, deepest, as he muffled his sharp cries against bitten lips, head thrown forward to press against Qui-Gon's shoulder, eyes closed. Those so-loved sounds of pleasure and that pulse, hot and long and deep inside sent him over the edge, groaning low, sobbing in exquisite release, safe caught in his lover's hand, pierced and held by his sweet, hard weight. He was all fire and plowed earth, boneless in ecstasy, filled with Obi-Wan's seed, surrounded and penetrated with love and fierce, passionate desire.

Oh, that touch!

They lay together, savoring the aftershocks, the delicate, trembling sensations as Obi-Wan withdrew, urged him over and laved his now spent length, drinking him in; kissed his way from groin to hip to belly to breast to throat, until he again lay against him, on him, hip to hip. They shared a long, slow kiss, deep and sweet, sated softness pressed together, langorously, deliciously.

Qui-Gon wrapped arms strengthless with passion around his beloved in tender embrace. [Oh my love. Loved and beloved.]

Obi-Wan nestled into the compass of those arms, pillowing his head beneath his lover's chin. [Lover. Beloved.] He smiled against the smooth skin under his cheek. [You liked that.]

A purring chuckle, warm breath tickling. [Yes. I did. And presently I shall also have the pleasure of watching and touching you. Beloved.] His arms tightened.

The younger man settled himself more closely and lavished a kiss on the long, conveniently-placed throat. [I'll look forward to it. Lover.]

And thus entwined, filled, replete, they rested together and watched the sky brighten as the sun rose above the hills and touched everything with rose and gold.


End file.
